


The Inner-Workings of Coincidence

by Marks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-05
Updated: 2005-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry leaves the wizarding world, following the forced exodus of the Death Eaters' children.  Then, five years pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inner-Workings of Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> Previously occurring character death. Other than that, none. Not exactly fluffy, not exactly angsty.

"This isn't right, Hermione."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. It had been a long couple of weeks -- years, really -- and the last thing she needed was an angry Harry Potter in righteous befuddlement mode storming into her office fifteen minutes before five. She looked up to find Harry waving around the day's copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

Ah. Well, that explained it. Maybe if Harry didn't keep such odd hours, they could have had this conversation over lunch -- not that Hermione ever had lunch anywhere other than huddled over her desk or holed up in one of the labs. Still, it was the principle of the thing; he could have at least called first.

"There was no stopping it," she said, careful to kept the 'edge' from her voice that Ron had always told her crept in when she was particularly annoyed. "The problem with a post-war reconstruction is everyone is so _reactionary_...the same thing happened the first time Voldemort was defeated."

"That does _not_ make it right," Harry ground out tersely. He threw the newspaper down, causing the briefings she'd just organised to scatter everywhere. No one other than Harry would have got away with that, but since it already looked as though she'd be here late, what was one more thing? When Hermione didn't immediately reply, he continued, "This is the same reason that Sirius rotted away for twelve years in Azkaban--"

"They're not sending them to prison!"

"They might as well be!" Harry spat back. "Throwing a bunch of purebloods into the Muggle world with nothing but a few pound notes is almost worse! It's damned close to a death sentence."

She knew he was right, of course. That was why she'd fought so hard to offer some alternative, and had won only the tiniest of victories. "They'll be briefed on Muggle life and given the basic amenities to help them blend in…." Even to her ears, it sounded like the worst of excuses.

"Their only crime was being related to criminals; some of them even fought _with_ us, or have you forgotten?"

" _I_ haven't, and I don't think this can suddenly be your pet cause just because you got one Death Eater's son to follow us instead of--"

"I didn't only mean Malfoy and his weird crush, and you know it! Nott and Parkinson, too. And what about all of these kids that aren't even out of Hogwarts yet?"

"They'll be allowed to stay with their families, unless they're small. Then, there are families willing to take them," Hermione mumbled, feeling something in her chest suddenly swell and burst, no longer able to make excuses for something she knew was horrible. Harry was preaching to the choir here. "You _know_ I fought this! My name is all over this biased piece of crap article! Where's _your_ name, other than the requisite mention of the boy hero that liberated us all?"

Harry stared at her, incredulous, and she regretted her words. "That's not fair."

"We _all_ lost someone. We _both_ lost Ron, need I remind you? Just because he chose y--"

"Don't finish that." Harry's fists were clenched at his sides, face pinched and angry.

Hermione sighed again. "Sorry. But don't you make this into my fault, either. I did what I could."

"I'm leaving."

"All right," Hermione said, glancing down at the mess of paperwork littering her desk. "It'll probably be easier to talk about this tomorrow."

"No, Hermione," Harry said emphatically. "I'm _leaving_. I'm out. I can't deal with this intolerance anymore. When the Death Eaters' descendants leave, so do I."

"You can't mean--" But she knew he did.

"I do. Don't try and stop me."

"Like I've ever been able to stop you from doing anything you've wanted. Honestly, Harry." She stood and practically ran around her desk, knocking over her favourite plant in the process, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. "Promise me you'll be safe."

Harry didn't say anything for several moments, arms stiff and awkward at his sides. Finally, sounding defeated and tired and _young_ , he muttered, "I'll contact you, if I can. I just can't...not anymore."

"I know." Hermione looked up, arms still around the remaining half of her best friends. How could she bear to lose him, too? She bit her lip, and looked down again, overwhelmed as she buried her face in his chest. "I love you."

With a sigh of his own, Harry dipped his head until his chin hit the top of her head. "I know. I know you tried...this just isn't the place for me."

Had it ever been? Hermione wondered. The world never dealt well with those too good for it walking its surface. Heroes were statues in the Ministry, not twenty-one year olds with broken, weary hearts and an inability to deal with loss. "I'll miss you," she told his shirt, now damp with her tears.

\--

By the time the Death Eaters' children had been cast out and separated from all but their immediate families, Harry had already been gone for a month. It took some time, but he finally managed to fit back into Muggle society. He'd been worried about the people, at first, but with his upbringing, that wasn't too surprising. It had turned out to be unfounded worry; in fact, for every one Dudley there were nine perfectly nice people and, really, those odds weren't too bad.

His days were marked by routine. His alarm sounded at exactly 6:15am every morning and, three snoozes later, he'd roll out of bed at exactly 6:36am. Alarms were followed by bleary-eyed showers, shaving with as few nicks as he could manage, popping in the coloured contacts that itched, but helped him look like someone other than himself, and getting dressed. At 7:15am, he'd stumble outside and wave to his neighbour who after five years still didn't know his name, and walk the two blocks needed to procure the coffee that had supplanted tea once his caffeine habit had spiralled out of control. Properly caffeinated, he'd walk the rest of the way to work, being a lucky enough sod to live within walking distance of his workplace.

Harry worked for a small publishing firm that hired him based on his impressive, albeit made up and magically altered, credentials. The people he worked for were generally laid back and often tried alleviating his perceived loneliness by setting him up with their sisters and, in one memorable instance, a brother. When Harry let drop that the date with the brother had gone particularly well, he started seeing business cards to establishments with names like "The Navel Base" and "Man Chester's" dropped on his desk with little notes attached that said things like, "My friend _swears_ by this place," but for the most part, they let him lead his uneventful life without meddling.

The job itself consisted mostly of various Their Boy Friday tasks -- everything from light typing to changing the toner in the copy machine. As it happened, Harry showed particular aptitude in getting the tricky electrical wiring working when no one else could. The front desk receptionist often joked that talent was linked to the unusual scar Harry got from an automotive accident when he was two. He'd smile whenever she said this, glad that she never had to know the real reason.

At the end of the day, Harry would always stop for coffee again, promising himself that he'd give it up one of these days and walk the rest of the way hom-- run smack into Draco Malfoy clutching two bags of groceries, scattering them all over the pavement.

It wasn't until Harry rescued an orange and handed back to his owner that he recognised Draco. They stared at each other, open-mouthed and surprised, until Harry squeaked and took off at top speed and ran the rest of the way to his flat, pounding up the stairs and locking the deadbolt behind him, sliding to the floor.

He'd _escaped_. He'd made a clean break, never expecting to see anyone from his old life again, _especially_ not _Malfoy_. Taking a cleansing breath, Harry rationalised this. Was it all that surprising to see another wizard in London? Magical people were everywhere and Harry knew Malfoy had been cast out shortly after he'd left. Harry let out a long, shuddery exhale, having not quite convinced himself.

He bent until his forehead touched his drawn-up knees. Why was this bothering him so much?

\--

A very long, unscheduled shower did a lot to calm Harry's nerves and, by the next day, he was ready to write the meeting off as pure coincidence and one he wouldn't have to repeat again. He'd also decided that he needed to get a grip on himself because _one_ reminder of the Wizarding World was hardly enough to get his shorts in such a twist. Things like that were just bound to happen from time to time.

He'd just about convinced himself that everything was fine again when he went to get his coffee the next morning, only to end up right behind Malfoy on the queue. Suppressing the urge to squeak again, Harry stood very still and weighed his options. He could just turn around and leave, but that meant dealing with the brown sludge his co-workers called a decent cup of coffee, or he could be very, very quiet and pretend not to have noticed the platinum blond standing a foot in front of him. Nodding (very quietly), Harry made his decision and shuffled forward, focusing on a spot a bit above Malfoy's head. The little bugger, he noted with some satisfaction, hadn't ever managed to keep up with Harry's growth spurt and he was now nearly a head shorter. That fact was something he and Ron once laughed about when they'd been holed up together in their cramped training barracks, right before they'd--

Harry swallowed hard. Coffee. Ignoring annoying blond git. Right.

"It's your turn, Potter." Malfoy was lounging against the counter, staring at Harry as though he was a particularly irritating piece of shit that had stuck to his shoe.

Harry stepped up to the counter and hefted his messenger bag up on his shoulder, continuing to ignore the annoying blond git completely. "Medium non-fat latte, one sugar, extra shot of espresso," he said as quietly and quickly as possible.

"You would be a girly drink drinker, wouldn't you?"

Harry glanced over; Malfoy had whipped cream on his upper lip, a surprisingly attractive flaw. That thought horrified Harry as he forked over the notes for his coffee, but, after thinking about it, realised that it was a particularly apt descriptor of Malfoy himself.

"What is that?" Harry snapped, nodding at Malfoy's cup. The blighter was drinking coffee with a straw, an honest-to-goodness _straw_ , the pungent scent of chocolate and peppermint detectable even from Harry's distance. "Peppermint mocha with whipped cream? Now _there's_ a drink that'll put hair on your chest." He snorted, hating himself for rising to the bait.

"I like my chest as it is, thank you."

"Bully for you." Harry took his latte and thanked the girl behind the counter before turning to Malfoy again. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked, then shook his head violently. "Never mind. I don't care, and I'm about to be late for work."

Turning on his heel, Harry stormed away, pretending not to hear Malfoy call after him, "The great Harry Potter works? I would have thought you lived off your own self-satisfaction. Nice contacts, by the way!"

The bell on the café's door jangled angrily as Harry slammed the door shut behind him.

\--

Malfoys didn't _do_ headaches, Draco thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He rifled through his luggage, searching for the analgesic he knew he had in there, and came up empty. Damn it.

Angry, he spun around and, out of habit, flicked his wrist toward the taps, thinking a glass of water might help. Instantly, the water started flowing from them.

Draco gaped.

Looking from his hand to the taps, then back again, he threw his hand out again. The taps turned off.

They turned _off_.

He let out a burst of uncharacteristic, delighted laughter and sunk into the nearest chair, staring at his fingers in a mixture of awe and disbelief. That had been the first magic he'd done since they took his wand, shoved his inheritance into his hands in the form of a stack of useless, weightless paper notes, and, with no living immediate family left, dropped him in some section of England with no family or friends for hundreds of miles around.

This was the first magic in five years. What had changed? Was it London itself? No, Draco had been here for three months moping and avoiding everyone other than his bankers and analysts. He smiled smugly, momentarily distracted. Only a Malfoy could make money without knowing the currency and having never done an honest day's work. If only Potter had known that when Draco had shouted after him that morn--

Potter.

 _Potter_.

Draco hung his head as his headache went from annoying to _throbbing_. Damn it. No wonder they'd all been separated from one another; he'd just never given it much thought. He couldn't have run into any _other_ magical person, could he have?

Typical. Bloody typical. The only magic in five years and it was thanks to proximity to _Potter_.

Damn it.

\--

When Harry approached the café the next morning, he decided it was high time he either changed his routine or got a new damned coffee shop. Coincidences were one thing, but Malfoy was fucking _waiting_ for him today. There was no doubt about it; Malfoy had been learning against the wall, idly searching up and down the street, but the second he spotted Harry, he _vaulted_ off the wall and started striding toward him, seemingly not noticing as Harry cringed.

"Listen, Malfoy," Harry started, sounding almost apologetic, "I know you had some weird obsession with me back at school, but it's been eight years and maybe you should just let it go?"

Malfoy stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. "What are you talking about, Potter? I wanted to speak with you because I did magic yesterday."

"And?"

" _And_ ," Malfoy said, addressing Harry like a child, "that's the first time that's happened in five years. When was the last time _you_ did magic?"

Harry shrugged. "A couple of years, I guess, but I don't really use my wand anymore."

"You daft bugger." Malfoy looked livid now. "You gave magic up? I figured you did some big, dark thing that got hushed up by the Ministry because it was bad PR. How could you just give that _up_?"

"How is that any of your business?" Harry retorted, trying to push past Malfoy to get into the café.

Malfoy threw out his arm, face softening a tiny bit. "Sorry. It's not." He sighed, and Harry idly observed that he looked lost. "It was the first magic I've done since they took my wand...I--I miss it more than I realised." Malfoy straightened his spine again and all illusion of vulnerability was gone as quickly as it'd appeared. "I came here because I have a proposition for you," Malfoy continued, digging through his pockets and pulling out a business card that he shoved into Harry's hand. "Meet me at this address tonight at eight for dinner. We can talk about it then."

"A date?" spluttered Harry indignantly.

"If you like," Malfoy said with a casual wave of his hand. "You'll need to wear a tie and suit jacket." He started walking backward, still shouting as he went. "And if you insist on calling it a date, I suppose we can also re-examine who had a crush on whom!"

Harry never had a chance to do anything other than gape.

\--

Draco was ten minutes late, which he found absolutely appalling. Everyone knew that one needed at least twenty minutes for a proper, fashionable entrance. Of course, not everyone was meeting Harry Potter, who was already seated and tugging at the collar of a dress shirt that clashed with his tie, which somehow also clashed with his jacket.

Only Potter.

Draco made a disgusted noise and sauntered toward the table after handing his overcoat to the maître d'. Potter's coat was squashed in a ball on one of the empty seats. It seemed there was no need to worry about fashionable _anything_ here.

"You're late," Potter said, holding up his glass accusingly.

"It's barely past eight," scoffed Draco.

"Therefore, you're late. I've been here nearly a half-hour already. I assume you're paying?"

"Of course," said Draco smoothly. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't?"

But Potter didn't appear to be listening, already flagging down the waiter by shaking his glass. "Keep the scotch coming. The good stuff, of course. Wouldn't want your guest to suffer, would you, Malfoy?" He smiled insincerely, the barest twitch of lips.

"Uncouth."

"Maybe. But it's the only way I'm getting through a night with you."

Potter grabbed a roll from the basket on the table and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. Draco, who normally stuck to wine with dinner, grimaced and ordered a vodka tonic for himself, giving the waiter the same direction. Of course Potter was still a tragic misstep; that was no reason for Draco to suffer.

"So," Potter mumbled around a mouthful of bread, "why did this conversation have to continue somewhere other than the street?" He swallowed the roll, chasing it with the other half of his drink, grinning madly as the waiter delivered a fresh glass.

"Because it's protocol. Buying dinner is the polite way of asking someone for a favour."

Potter snorted. "Like we're friends? Bullshit, Malfoy. I don't owe you anything -- in fact, it's probably the reverse."

"Yes, did I ever properly thank you for defending those who fought alongside you so they wouldn't get banished from the only world they've ever known?" At least Potter had the decency to look chastised then. Draco slammed back is own drink, surprised by how quickly he finished. "Just as I thought."

"What do you want?" asked Potter warily.

"To have the law overturned or, failing that, to get my wand back. I'd nearly forgotten how good magic felt, and I suppose I have you to thank for that." Draco nodded as the waiter replaced their glasses again.

Potter stared into his drink for a long moment before asking, "And why do you think I could help with that?"

"My, you _are_ as stupid as you look!" Instantly, Potter's head snapped up, shooting Draco a look that could only be described as one a kicked puppy might wear. "Oh, for God's sake...Potter, I'm sorry. It's because you can come and go as you please, and I can't. I expect the Mudb...er, Granger is still there?"

"As far as I know."

 _That_ was interesting, though Draco decided not to ask about it for now. Instead, he nodded, satisfied. "Talk to her, if you can. It's been five years...maybe the Ministry could be convinced now. And if not, at least your troubled Gryffindor heart can be soothed by knowing that you tried."

"All right," Potter said finally. "I'll talk to Hermione. But no guarantees."

"No guarantees," Draco agreed, raising his glass in a toast. He and Potter clinked glasses, both belting back the remainder of their drinks, which were immediately replaced with yet another round.

They studied their menus in silence for a time and, when Draco looked up again, he caught Potter looking rather thoughtful and decided -- to his horror -- that the look suited him.

"Spit it out," Draco said, annoyed, though with himself or Potter, he didn't know.

Potter slumped in his chair, putting his menu aside. "I was just thinking--"

"First time for everything." Off Potter's look, Draco drawled, "Oh, like you didn't expect it."

"Shut up," Potter ordered, but he didn't seem angry, just dismissive. "Anyway, I don't understand why being around me would bring back your magic."

Draco nodded. "Not too sure about that myself. I think it's like when children are small and have those first signs of magic. They have no outlet, then they have a little growth spurt and, bam, their mother's nightgowns all have ducks, and Father's cane hisses at the help." Potter snickered, something else Draco found sort of charming. He thought it was perhaps time to slow down on the vodka. "Theoretically speaking, that is."

"Of course."

"I think being away from my wand and magic and wizards made it atrophy...it simply found a conduit again when I saw you."

Potter giggled again, and Draco felt his cheeks heat. Not good. "So, you felt literal sparks for me?" he slurred, trying to lean forward, though only managing not to topple over.

"Yes, Potter," Draco said dryly. "You are the magic. Shall we order?"

"In a minute," Potter said, struggling to his feet and grasping the table's edge. "I'm going to kip off to the loo fir-- oh, _fuck_."

Draco was on his feet as soon as Harry -- _Potter_ toppled over, catching him before he had a chance to think about it.

"Oof." Potter giggled again and hiccuped. "S'pose I drank too fast...s'been awhile."

"You're wearing your glasses," Draco blurted suddenly, apropos of nothing. He was still holding the other man up.

Potter pulled himself upright, and Draco flopped back into his chair, feeling like he was really _seeing_ him for the first time.

"No reason to change anything about myself for you." Shrugging, Potter lurched away, looking as dazed as Draco felt.

\--

There was annoyed rattling, a sound that could only have been a very drunk person struggling with keys. Sure enough, there was a click a moment later as Draco stumbled into his flat, muttering something about watching the boxes, but it didn't matter as the next moment the door was slammed shut again, and Draco was shoved against it, moaning into a wet, willing mouth as his coat, forgotten, slipped out of his hand to the floor.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to get home, nor how Potter had somehow ended up here, too, but he vaguely remembered footsie, a lot of talking, and a _lot_ more alcohol. He could also remember paying the waiter and a blur of a mini-cab ride that was more a memory of wandering hands and that same hot mouth seeking out every inch of available skin without actually stripping Draco in the back of a moving vehicle.

Not that Draco would have minded.

" _Potter_ ," he whimpered helplessly, allowing himself to be lifted off the ground, legs wrapping easily around Potter's waist.

"Harry," came the forceful, if fuzzy, reply. "Tomorrow, you can go back to that. Tonight, I'm Harry."

" _Harry_ ," he replied, feeling very charitable indeed. "God."

"Well, that's all right, too." A wet tongue was licking Draco's collarbone and strong, warm hands kneaded his backside. His hips were already rocking, despite his drunkenness, despite his awkward position. "Bed?" asked Harry, speaking against the side of Draco's neck.

Draco jerked his chin in the right direction, whacking Harry in the head. The other man laughed, not even moving a hand to rub his forehead, so Draco leant forward and kissed it as Harry manoeuvred them around, carrying Draco all the way to his bedroom.

Once there, he was unceremoniously flung onto the bed, not even having time to register protest when those warm hands were back, pushing Draco's suit jacket off, then yanking his tie over his head and pulling at either side of his shirt. As he heard a button fly off and hit something, Draco let out a little cry. This was moving too quickly for him, especially when Harry crawled on top of him, his shirt also somehow gone, all warm skin and broad shoulders and just a dusting of interesting chest hair.

He must have said it out loud because Harry murmured, "We have all night," bending so all Draco could see was inky black hair against his pale chest, but he arched and groaned as teeth bit down on his nipple.

Harry's hand was now flat against his belly and creeping lower, hovering just above his groin, silently asking permission. In reply, Draco whined and lifted his hips off of the mattress, so he supposed he'd made that decision already.

As Harry's palm closed over his still-covered, aching cock, Draco fisted his hands in Harry's hair, yanking him up and kissing him, hard and hungry, needing something to _do_. Harry groaned around his tongue as he tugged at his fly, dragging down the zip, and plunging his hand inside.

"Oh God, oh God," Draco gasped as Harry's hand _curled_ and _twisted_ and he hated himself for not tossing off earlier because it'd been so long and that hand felt so good that even a night's worth of vodka tonics weren't going to stop him from coming.

"You feel so good," Harry told him, moving again to lick a wet line up Draco's throat. "So hard and hot for me, pushing into my hand not knowing if you want my fingers or my mouth or my cock," and, holy _hell_ , how did he not sound drunk anymore and how exactly had Harry Potter got so good at sex, anyway?

Draco sucked in a harsh breath. "Y--yes," he stuttered, not knowing what he was answering.

Another throaty chuckle as Harry pulled himself up to his knees, yanking Draco's trousers and pants to his ankles, pulling off his shoes and socks before throwing the whole lot aside. Draco let out a long moan as Harry spread his legs far apart, so he could use his tongue to trace up one thigh and down the other, hand curling around his shaft again.

"Been awhile?" Harry asked, trailing kisses up Draco's leg until he reached his hip.

"Five years is...is a very long time," confessed Draco breathlessly. "I haven't exactly made an effort to fit in."

Harry dipped his tongue into Draco's navel, making him shout again. "No need for you to suffer needlessly, then." Harry grinned and slithered down that extra bit needed to suck Draco's entire prick down his throat.

Dear _God_ , what in blazes had Harry been up to these last few years? Draco closed his eyes tightly, grabbing fistfuls of his bedspread, then opened them again, shocked and unbelievably aroused, as Harry's tongue flickered over the head of his cock, before it disappeared so far into Harry's mouth that Draco wondered if he had throat muscles at all.

Not that he had much time for coherent thought, not when Harry's hand stopped squeezing his sac and traced his crease, fingertips circling his hole. Warm mouth surrounded him and fingers teased him, and that was it, as he shouted Harry's name and came hard, shooting his release in white-hot-liquid-ohfuck-good pulses down Harry's throat.

Swallowing hard and fairly sure his brain had just been sucked out through his prick, he only dimly realised Harry flopping alongside him, kicking off his own shoes and wiggling out of his trousers, murmuring in a rough tone reserved for tonsillectomy patients and, apparently, those who've just given perfect blow jobs. "I want to fuck you," Harry told him. "Gonna get you hard again and turn you over, press into you until you're screaming my name, begging for more, begging for harder, faster, deeper."

Well. If he was going to keep talking like that, it wasn't going to take much effort. "Ch--check that drawer," he stuttered, still too off-kilter to worry much about the fact that he was drunk and getting laid for the first time in _aeons_ , along with the knowledge that Harry Potter was turning out to be the best fuck of Draco's life. All he could manage was a smile when Harry triumphantly produced a three-fourths-used tube of lubricant that Draco had had forever.

Harry threw the lube onto the bed and grabbed up his trousers again, rifling through until he found a foil packet, which he threw down with it.

"How conscientious, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected lazily. "And just because you haven't had sex in the Muggle world doesn't mean I haven't." Harry shrugged. "Turn over?"

"And miss the show?" Draco asked incredulously, feeling a little more like himself now that he wasn't quite so desperate. He shook his head, propping himself on his elbows. "Let's see it, then I'll decide if I'm in a charitable mood."

With an easy smile, Harry climbed to his knees and slipped off his glasses, handing them to Draco. "They were in the way," he explained.

Draco nodded and shoved them onto his night table, never looking away from Harry for a second, especially not when he'd poured a dollop of lubricant into his hand and was slowly fisting his cock, eyes locked with Draco's as he moaned. In unison, they both drew sharp inhales, and Draco's cock jerked again, pretty much confirming that he'd be more than ready when Harry was.

Harry picked up the condom next, groaning when he had to let go of himself to open the packet, then again as Draco's hand closed around his slick shaft. When Harry looked down in surprise, Draco shrugged and smiled, asking, "Why should you get all the fun?"

"Oh, don't -- _ah_ \-- let me stand in your way." He swallowed hard, throat visibly working even in the dim light, and started rolling the condom on, Draco politely moving his hand until he was cupping tight sac. Harry dropped the lubricant near Draco. "Want the honours?"

Draco nodded eagerly and squeezed a generous amount into his hand, sliding it up and down Harry's shaft again, suddenly improvising as he threw himself onto his back and snaked two fingers between his own spread legs, pushing them in and out, skin warmed from the sheer heat of Harry's erection.

" _Shit_ , Draco," Harry mumbled, watching with a hungry expression.

"Like riding a broom." Draco turned over, pillowing his head on his hands and drawing his legs underneath him, cock practically hard again already. " _Now_ I'm ready for you to fuck me."

Behind him, Harry made an incoherent noise, but a moment later, one warm hand was on his hip and something blunt and hot was nudging at his entrance. Draco rocked back as Harry thrust forward slowly, easing himself in inch by inch.

"Oh, God," Draco said, clenching his jaw.

"Am I hurting you?"

"N...ye-- maybe a little." Draco took a deep breath, trying to relax, wiggling backward and ordering, " _Move_. As I recall, I like it deep, fast, and rough, and it'll help if you comply."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered with another laugh, pushing in roughly until he was fully sheathed, both men crying out at once. "G-- _god_ , you're tight."

"Don't sound so surprised," Draco mumbled into the pillow, moaning loudly as Harry's hand slid underneath his chest, the other still on his hip as Harry folded himself over, warm chest pressed against warm back, teeth sinking into Draco's shoulder.

"So good," Harry whispered, pulling out almost completely before slamming forward again, then again, then again, then Draco was being pulled up, protective arm still against his chest, until he was seated on Harry's knees, gasping as Harry's other hand, still slick with gel, slid from his hip to his cock, gliding smoothly along his prick. "Fuck yourself on me. Want you to make me come."

Whimpering, Draco tried to comply, rocking forward into hot, slick hand and back, impaling himself on a throbbing cock, then forward again and back, feeling his stomach flip pleasantly as his head fell back to Harry's shoulder. Teeth closed over his throat again, then Draco turned his head and they were kissing, a hot, wet clash of lips and teeth and tongues. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth and Draco moaned into Harry's and the vise-like grip on his cock tightened just a bit more as Harry stuttered, " _Draco_ , God, gonna, want to, fuck so tight, so tight, so--"

The hand around his cock was nearly a blur; hand on his chest blindly finding a nipple, twisting; and it was good, so good, so good; and Harry was screaming and coming, pulsing hot inside him. Draco felt his balls draw up, and he shot his release in an arc across the mattress and pillows. All the lights in the room flared, nearly blinding them, before instantly burning out again and plunging them back into darkness.

They collapsed in a giggling heap on the bed a moment later, both wincing as Harry pulled out and tossed the used condom God only knows where. The last thing Draco felt before he passed out was a blanket thrown over his naked, sore, sweaty body and a pair of warm arms wrapped around his body, one final thought running through his head: He hadn't felt this good in years.

\--

"Oh, dear God!"

Harry whined in protest and pulled the covers over his head, trying to ignore the noise.

"Potter, wake up! How the hell did this happen?"

Upon hearing his name, Harry cracked open one eye and found himself staring at a rather panicked-looking Draco Malfoy. "This is different," he observed, eyes blearily travelling over Malfoy's body.

Malfoy pulled the blankets up to his neck like some virtuous maiden, although Harry didn't think the odds were good that he was either. "Different?" he squawked. "Wasabi is different. Playing football instead of Quidditch is different. You being naked in my bed, while I'm not completely sure how either one of those things happened, is so far beyond different that I'm not sure there's a word for it!"

"Then we'll stick with different." Harry pulled himself upright and groaned, feeling his stomach lurch and several of his muscle groups ache. "Well, it seems like we had sex," he told Malfoy, locating his glasses on a side table. He scrunched up his face, trying to recall. "More than once, I believe. At several points throughout the night. Good sex, too. Don't you remember anything?"

Malfoy's face was mixed horror and intrigue, and, after several moments, he nodded once, trying to sit up, while keeping the blanket pulled up to his neck.

"Little too late for modesty," Harry said, gently tugging at the material. "So, what can you remember?"

"Flashes, I suppose. I remember meeting you at the restaurant, and you being terribly punctual. We spoke about my magic coming back. You agreed to do a favour for me, and if you think you're getting out of that...," Malfoy warned.

"I remember," Harry replied shortly. "You made me laugh about something, and we were drinking a lot --"

"And I rescued you." Malfoy looked smug, and Harry sighed.

"Yes, you rescued me. Then, you started playing footsie with me under the ta--"

" _I_ started? That was definitely all your doing."

"Whatever," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "I also recall thinking that you had a rather nice mouth--"

"I do, at that."

"Yes, you do. Then, we paid the bill and did obscene things in a car, before coming here..."

"And continuing obscene activities." Malfoy's face was still pinched, but he no longer seemed horrified. "I remember some."

"Good. Because while it might be blurry, I haven't felt that good in years."

"Since Weasley?" Malfoy asked, arching one eyebrow.

"How did you know about that."

Malfoy shrugged, and the blanket slipped down even further, revealing a bruise right above his hipbone. "Everyone did. You two weren't exactly...subtle. Not that either of you ever were."

Harry snorted. "And you're the model of refinement and intrigue? There was a reason we knew you'd be a crap spy, you know. Never could keep your bloody trap shut."

"Quiet," Malfoy ordered. "Shouldn't you be more bothered by this?"

"Maybe, but--" Harry reached out and traced the outline of the bruise with his thumb. "--I'm not about to ruin my good mood by worrying."

Malfoy watched his fingers, not encouraging or discouraging the movement. "I think that it was our combined magic that did it. You said you haven't used your wand in a few years, and--"

"I've spent years honing those skills," Harry said, shaking his head. "Whatever that was, that was us, not just our magic. Being wizards gives us something to talk about, so this kind of thing can happen. And, yes, before you can ask, I'm going to see if I can talk to Hermione today. But first, can I use your shower?"

Still looking dazed, Malfoy nodded. "Right through there," he said, pointing.

"Great." Harry jumped out of the bed, not even bothering to hunt for his clothes, and walked toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. "You're welcome to join me, if you'd like something to remember properly."

"Not with that breath," Malfoy grumbled, but as he turned away, Harry heard the squeak of bedsprings and smiled. He figured he might as well make the most out of what was bound to be an awkward day.

\--

Hermione sank into her desk chair, grateful for the millionth time for its lumbar support. She had just picked up her cup of herbal tea, when several tentative raps on her door interrupted her break. "Come in?" she called, surprised that the visitor hadn't simply barged in; that ruled out everyone who worked for her, at least, and sparked her curiosity.

The door slowly swung open, and when she saw who it was standing there, she needed to blink several times before she really allowed herself to believe what she was seeing.

"Hullo, Hermione," said Harry, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking sheepish.

Hermione stared back, then pushed back her chair and struggled to stand, making her way around her desk. "Don't you 'hullo, Hermione' me, Harry Potter! You don't get to ignore me for five years when you said you wouldn't, then come waltzing in here with a hangdog expression and expect me to forgive you because you finally came to your senses and decided to rejoin the human race...Muggle _and_ magical." She finally stood in front of him and glowered, hands on her hips. "Not without at least a hug first."

"You're-- I mean, _look_ at you!" Harry gasped, staring down at her. "You're _huge_!"

Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Honestly. Haven't you ever seen a pregnant woman before? Now, give me my damned hug before I have a mood swing and decide to throw you out on your sorry arse!"

"Sorry, sorry." But Harry was already smiling as he threw his arms around her, hugging as though she were about to pop -- which she _was_ , but not for another four weeks and it was unlikely that arms were enough to induce. "You look beautiful. All...all glowy."

"Oh, that's just my skin care regime," she admitted. "My facialist does wonders with my pores. Anyway, why are you here? I suspect one doesn't make social calls to one's best friend's office during the day, after ignoring said best friend for half a decade."

Harry sighed, leading Hermione back around her desk and helping her sit again. "Remember the last thing we talked about?" he asked, seating himself across from her. "Don't you think it's time the Ministry had a change of heart?"

She asked him what brought this on, and he -- reluctantly -- told her the whole story, and though she was shocked, Hermione still knew that he was right and was glad he was finally making amends, though she didn't exactly approve of his methods. It was probably time she finished what she'd begun, too.

"I'll do it," she said finally, taking a long draught from her cup. "If you'll do a few things for me."

Harry bit his lip. "All-- all right. What did you have in mind?"

"One, you remember that you can't always run away from your problems, and when you run away from them, you run away from all the people you love, too." Harry nodded, and Hermione continued, "Two, you come visit me the way friends are supposed to, and I'll also visit your flat from time to time. Drinks and dinner and conversation will happen, and we will have fun. I will probably hug you."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry agreed with a grin.

"Three, you agree to be this baby's godfather. The godmother position's already spoken for, but I didn't think you really wanted that, anyway."

Harry's eyes went wide. "R--really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. I'm only glad you're here to accept. If you agree to do all of this, I'll bring the law up for official review. Somehow, I suspect the timing is right now, and anyway, the Minister for Magic's wife tends to have more pull than the average citizen."

" _You're_ the Minister's wife?" gasped Harry, looking perplexed. "But isn't Talmidge about a hundred years old?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We have a new Minister, obviously, and his mother is as proud of him as she is of her other six children."

Harry thought for a moment, then smiled. "Percy."

Folding her hands over her stomach, she beamed at Harry. "We're naming the baby Ronald."

"He'll be perfect, just like his mum." The corners of Harry's mouth tugged down, before bravely smiling again. "And his uncle."

"And his godfather, blood relation or no."

"I've missed you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Let's not let that happen again, then."

\--

Three weeks later, Harry sat around his flat, taking an unscheduled, unneeded sick day, unless being sort of tired because he was trying to balance a magical and Muggle lifestyle, while taking up the mantel of justice again, counted as needed. An owl tapped on his window as someone rang his buzzer, and if he hadn't been able to think of a literal interpretation for what he was going through, he no longer needed to.

Making a quick decision, he grabbed the letter from the owl's foot before buzzing through his visitor, scanning the letter and whooping excitedly.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm in a bit of pain right now, having gone into labour a week early, which completely puts me off my schedule. Get yourself to St. Mungo's, so you and Percy can both wear grooves into their floors. Also, the attached article may be of some interest of you._

_Love from,  
Hermione_

Harry didn't have time to look at the article before the visitor knocked on his door, and, rather frazzled, he pulled it open, finding a dazed-looking Draco Malfoy, clutching an official-looking piece of parchment with an elaborate wax seal.

"Hello," said Harry carefully.

"They've been lifted," Draco told him, amazed.

Harry finally glanced down at the article Hermione sent him, noticing the headline, _Post-Voldemort Witch-hunt Laws Overturned_. It had worked.

"I've been pardoned fully, and I'll be receiving all interest that would have appreciated in Gringott's, had I been able to keep my money there. I can even reclaim the Manor."

Harry blinked and led Draco inside, almost apologetically. "I'm sorry for not getting in contact with you. I didn't want to tell you what I'd been doing, until I had something concrete," he said. "I felt I owed you that much...I wasn't-- I wasn't ignoring you."

"Wouldn't have blamed you if you were," Draco said, shrugging. "But...I can't believe you did this."

"I owed you. I owed everyone I let down." Harry scuffed his bare foot against the rug. "So, when will you be getting your wand and moving back?"

"Oh, they sent me my wand," said Draco, pulling it out of his coat. He looked all around Harry's living room, looking as though he was trying to decide something. "Your flat looks rather nice." Harry smiled.

"Looks even nicer at night," Harry said quietly, grabbing Draco's hand. "If you were interested..."

Draco offered Harry a slight smile. "I might be."

"Good." Harry grinned, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest. "Would you also be interested in wearing some grooves into a hospital floor? My best friend needs me, so as much as I could think of quite a few other things I'd rather be doing with you, I can't right now."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but why not? I'm in a rather good mood right now."

"Everything feels...normal, doesn't it?" Harry grabbed his jacket from the coat rack.

"Feels right," added Draco.

"Yeah, that too," Harry agreed. "Let me get my wand."


End file.
